I'm sorry I'm too much
by adhdbean
Summary: No matter how much Stiles's ADHD played up, he could always rely on Scott to have his back. Until he couldn't.
1. A cure for grief

Ever since Stiles was young, he'd never been one to sit still. His parents were always telling him to be quiet, to stop fidgeting. So when he was finally diagnosed with ADHD at the age of 8, it's safe to say no one was surprised. He wasn't particularly hiding his disorder, but finding people who can handle the burst of energy that is Stiles was difficult. Especially when you're in a class filled with driven, concentrated individuals. Stiles' teachers never expected him to get an A in his classes, so when he hit straight A's more often than not, they had no choice but to move him into the highest achieving classes the school had to offer. His teacher at the time, Mrs Rogers, was not the type to go easy on him. In fact, she even went so far as to create a whole day after school, just to make Stiles do detentions. He was at school until 6:00pm on these days. This was one of many reasons Stiles hates Tuesdays.

At the end of a rather boring Tuesday, Stiles headed to his regular detention slot to find Mrs Rogers, the usually stone-faced woman, sat at her desk, staring into his eyes with such sympathy that it scared Stiles. When she got up and placed a compassionate hand on his shoulder, he was pretty certain he was going to explode. "Stiles sweetie, your dad is going to pick you up early today" And that was enough to make him shiver with unease.

As promised, Stiles' father was waiting at the front desk. He locked eyes with his son, and Stiles knew from the puffiness of his eyes and his drooping brows that his father had been crying. "Dad? What's going on?" his voice was no more than a whisper. The sheriff took his pale boy's hand in his and led him to the police cruiser he came in without another word.

When they were sat comfortably in the car, the sheriff finally spoke, "It's mom. Stiles.. Mom's gone" and at that word, he broke down.

Stiles shook his head, tears falling onto his shaking hands. "What happened?" Stiles asked, his voice filled with despair.

"She was hit by a car Stiles, I'm sorry… Oh god, I'm sorry kiddo". Stiles was in his dad's arms in half a second, sobbing at the loss of the most important woman in his life. His dad held him back closely, wiping his own tears.

Stiles didn't go back to school straight away. After a few weeks, the sheriff finally persuaded him to go in for half a day at least. It was only half an hour into the day when John's phone lit up with the school's caller ID. The school nurse was on the other end of the phone, speaking in slow, soft words that made John want to crush the phone in his hands. The nurse informed him that Stiles had had a panic attack, and that she thought it would be best for him to return home.

When the sheriff went to pick up his boy, he found him so unusually silent, tears dripping from his eyes viciously, dropping onto the tiled floor in tiny splashes. This wasn't the last time it would happen, as the sheriff found out over the next couple of months, feeling helpless as he held his son, unable to do anything except comfort him as he grasped at his chest, sobbing and breathing in small gasps.

John never thought he'd get his little boy back the way he used to be.

It was 6 months after that call that Stiles sauntered in from school, wearing the first real smile the sheriff had seen on his son since that despicable Tuesday. "Someone's had a good day" John said, scooping his son up in his arms and kissing his short hair.

"I made a friend, dad!" Stiles beamed, squirming in his dads arms until he was nearly dropped. His dad was shocked to see that same energy from months ago beginning to return. Stiles talked non stop over the next hour, telling him every single detail about his new best friend in the world, and by the end of it, John could picture him. Stiles and his wonky-jawed friend, sitting together and being kids.

"Slow down, kiddo! It's lovely to know what colour his mom's hair is and all, but you haven't even told me his name yet!" the sheriff chuckled quietly.

"Oh yeah, his name's Scott. Scott McCall"


	2. The cure becomes the disease

Stiles still had his moments, but for the first in a long time, he seemed almost happy and not like a kid who'd lost his mom at 8 years old. Now, at age 14, Stiles still had Scott by his side. He was a regular for Saturday's game nights by this point, and the sheriff could tell that this kid was a blessing to his son.

Now that the panic attacks were only rarely seen, usually on the anniversary of his mother's passing, Stiles' biggest issue was his behaviour. He had turned 16 a few weeks ago and was now attending Beacon Hills High School. Most of his teachers had quickly taken a liking to the boy. Mr Harris, however, was a complete exception to that rule. While the other teachers reminded Stiles that he needed to be quiet and focus on his work, Mr Harris, or the devil reincarnate, as Scott and Stiles had been calling him, would scream and give endless detentions every single day. This is where he found himself now, throwing a highlighter up in the air and catching it over and over to pass the time.

"Mr Stilinski, this is a detention, not kindergarten recess" spoke up the horned devil at the front. And this process repeated for the next hour, Mr Harris screaming at Stiles to stop moving and to get on with his lines until the bell went signalling Stiles's sweet freedom.

When Stiles walked over to his beloved Jeep, he noticed something rather unusual on his windscreen. He walked over to the piece of paper tucked behind his windscreen wipers and opened it to reveal a single word :

"SPAZ"

Stiles was shocked to say the least. Normal people would think nothing else of a little word left by a coward, but Stiles wasn't normal. Stiles was Stiles. An overthinker by nature. And so he put the sheet of paper into his backpack and clambered into his Jeep's driver seat and just sat there for a few minutes, trying to ignore the feeling in his chest. Eventually, he began to drive home, actually relieved when he saw his father's police cruiser no where in sight of the home. Unlocking his door with shaking hands, Stiles continued to ignore the feeling of dread that had spread to his stomach.

He climbed onto his bed, pulling his phone out of his pocket and immediately tried to find out who the coward was. He searched his camera roll for any signs of matching handwriting, and something internal pulled him towards some pop quiz answers that someone had kindly sent him. That someone was the person Stiles least expected. That someone was Scott McCall.


	3. Abandoned

At first, Stiles thought it was a joke. You know, boys being boys. So he shrugged it off and went to school the next day without an attitude. Stilinski men don't cry. Of course his ADHD might be the one thing that changes that.

Scott knew the signs that Stiles's ADHD was bad. He'd come into school with an extra bounce in his step, talk for minutes without taking a breath and fidget nonstop - bouncing his legs relentlessly and chewing anything that came near him, usually his lacrosse glove. At first, these days never bothered him because Scott knew that Stiles couldn't help it. But recently, with the number of these days increasing - it was beginning to get on his nerves.

So at lunch, when Stiles was telling a story about his dad's work in far too many words than necessary, he didn't mean to snap.

"Dude! Will you just get to the point man, I've had enough"

The look on Stiles's face immediately dropped, morphing into one of confusion and hurt. Scott should've felt bad. Should've. But when Stiles just muttered a quiet "doesn't matter then", he found that it was a relief to him.

Stiles knew that he must annoy people sometimes. He really tried not to. But occasionally it was difficult to restrain himself when his brain just fires things out of his mouth without any warning. That's why he was grateful for Scott. It was the one time he could be himself. Or so he thought. When Scott first snapped, Stiles didn't know what to think. Of course, he could just leave and go and sit with some other friends, but the rest of his "friends" only hung around him as an extension of Scott. So, he just excused himself and went into the bathroom, staring at himself with hatred in his eyes in the dirty mirrors. His hands turned white at the knuckles, clenched with despair. He just had to make it through last period. Come on Stiles, Stilinski men don't cry.

The next day, Stiles walked into school with a bit more a shuffle in his step, his head hung lower than usual. He walked over to the spot he and Scott meet every day and waited. Waiting didn't come easy to Stiles, so when Scott was over 10 minutes late, he decided to just go to class. What he didn't expect was to see Scott in chemistry already, sat over by the window with Jackson Whittemore. Ignoring the hurt in his chest, Stiles went and took a seat at the back corner furthest from them both. The saddest thing was that he wasn't mad at him. He gets it. He wants a break from himself too. At lunch, Stiles sat at their usual table hopefully. All day, he'd been waiting to get back to Scott, just to tell him he was going to try harder. He kept glancing at his watch impatiently. Minutes ticked by painfully slow. When Stiles saw that there was only 5 minutes left of lunch, he decided to give up, expecting Scott to have texted him saying he'd gone home ill, and go sit on the bleachers for the rest. He didn't get round to eating though, because as soon as he stepped onto the field, he saw a familiar face amongst a group of other, smiling people.


	4. Back to old ways

Scott saw him. He saw him standing there, looking dumbfounded. He saw the pain written across his face, deep seated into his mind. But he deserved a break too right? It wasn't his fault that his patience had run out. He offered Stiles a cowardly shrug when Jackson shouted "OI!, look its the hyperactive spaz!" and didn't even think of following when Stiles turned on his heel and began practically running towards the parking lot.

Stiles didn't know what to do. Sure, Jackson's comment was just a repeat of things he'd heard before - but this was the first time it seemed like Scott had agreed with him. He picked up his pace towards his Jeep and wrenched open the door. Stilinski men don't cry. Until they have no other choice. Tears streamed down his freckled face, but he didn't dare make a noise. Stiles wiped at his eyes, willing the feeling in his stomach to go away, but Stiles knew this feeling. The same as when his mother died, it was the feeling of grief, loss and panic.

When he arrived home minutes later and unlocked the door, he raced up to his bedroom, ignoring his dad's calls to come back. Of course John, being the concerned parent he was, followed him up, immediately rushing over to rub comforting circles into his back when he realised his only son was having one of many panic attacks, curling himself into a ball and rocking back and forth on his bed. "Breathe kiddo, come on, you're doing great" but his requests fell on deaf ears. It wasn't that Stiles was ignoring him, it's just that it's pretty hard to hear when there's a relentless pounding in your head,

and the feeling of dread and death is enveloping you into its darkness.

It scared John seeing his strong minded kid in this state. Clutching at his chest, whimpering as tears stained his pale cheeks. "I'm here buddy, it's okay"

When John saw the sobbing turn down to a mere shudder, he knew that now was the time to find out what had caused this sudden regress to how his son once was. "What happened, kid?"

He wasn't expecting the almost inaudible whimpers of "Scott" that slipped past Stiles's lips. He could have never dreamed that Scott would become the cause of something he'd helped to prevent.

When Stiles fell limply against his dad's chest, the Sheriff wasn't all that surprised. It was common for the kid to pass out when something worked him up so much. So he just arranged his son comfortably on the bed, carding his hands through his hair, softly whispering reassurances until his eyes cracked open the tiniest bit. Even though his eyelids were still fluttering open, the sheriff could see the hurt and shame in them. He knew Stiles preferred to be alone after these episodes, so he fought his urges to stay and left the room, throwing a cautious "I love you kid" over his shoulder, clicking off the lights.


	5. Those aren't your people

Coming back from being unconscious is a surreal feeling after a panic attack. A feeling Stiles hoped he'd never feel again, but each time it happened, he remembered the heaving feeling, the desire to go back to the darkness. What he didn't expect however, was this new feeling of failure and immense shame that came with waking up. He stayed laying on his side, where his dad had put him in the recovery position, for a few more minutes before dragging himself into the bathroom. At first, Stiles just stared into the mirror with hate and disgust for himself, feeling so disappointed that he'd broken down, especially in front of his dad. Then his gaze shifted to his adderall bottles and all that shame turned to pure, terrifying anger that forced a pained scream past his lips. He heard his dad run into the room, felt him wrap his arms around Stiles's arms, tussling him out into the hallway in attempt to calm down his hysterical son.

When the anger calmed, Stiles heard his dad's worried voice asking what had happened and Stiles didn't have the heart to worry him anymore, so he started to explain everything. Of course he left out certain parts, like how much he hated himself right now, but he did tell his father how he knew his ADHD was an issue for other people.

He found that talking to his dad lifted some of the weight off of his tired shoulders, but was relieved when the Sheriff told him to go get some rest with a ruffle to his hair.

Before Stiles could get into his bed, however, the Sheriff called his name, and offered him an understanding smile, saying "Remember when your mom used to say -you may be too much for some people. Those aren't your people- well I think she'd want you to think about that now. Night, kid". And for the first time that night, Stiles felt a pang of warmth spread through his chest, and went to bed with a small smile on his face.


	6. Acceptance

It certainly wasn't immediate, but after a while Stiles got used to sitting alone. He got used to seeing Scott with other people. He got used to channeling his energy towards other things. And while that was great, he still wished he had more friends. It was tolerable, being left alone with his hyperactive mind, but he couldn't stop the subtle jealousy he felt when other people crowded together, laughing and having fun with their friends. That jealousy was replaced with confusion when he looked up to see Lydia Martin walking over towards him, with a genuinely warm smile on her face. When her arms appeared around him, embracing him with a feeling of belonging, Stiles just knew this was both the beginning and the end of something.

It was the end of his loneliness, the beginning of his happiness. And he was so ready for it.

Things kind of just clicked with Lydia's friends. Call it cliche, but Stiles had never felt like he belonged more than when he was sat supported by these people. Not to mention, Jackson was completely wrapped around Lydia's little finger, so soon enough the tormenting withered down to a bearable level and for that, Stiles was grateful. It still made him sad to think of the wasted years he and Scott spent together, the empty promises, the feeling of guilt that washed over him when he thought about how it ended.

It wasn't perfect. But Stiles was beginning to realise it didn't have to be. And being accepted for who he was was enough for him. He had Lydia to thank for that.


End file.
